


Twist of Fate

by vampireisthenewblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Age Difference, Classroom Sex, M/M, No Hale Fire AU, PWP with Plot (what), Pre-Canon Divergence, Schmoop, Teacher/Student, Teen Wolf kink meme, bottom!Derek, desk!sex, teacher!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've been hard since class started," Stiles says. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to bring Derek's hand down to prove it, but Derek knows, he can smell Stiles' arousal, he's been able to smell it the whole time and it's a wonder he was able to give the lesson at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> I kink meme'd again! Yay! This time the [prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=714793#t714793) called for:
>
>> Teacher!Derek gets fucked over his desk, during school hours, nevertheless, by student!Stiles ( _highschool_ student).
> 
> Apparently, when I see a kink prompt calling for teacher!Derek getting fucked over his desk by student!Stiles, I reach for angsty schmoop. Yeah, I thought that was kinda weird, too. But the porn is all there, so. Technically it's PWP, but there's some kinda plotty background stuffed in there as well. I've been dawdling along for the last couple months on a longfic with a premise very much like this one (no fire, teacher!Derek) so I used some of that as background, though it's not quite the same 'verse. Sorry, this hasn't been beta'd cos I've been suffering the itchypostitsTM recently, but if you see a kiwiism or something equally heinous, do comment and I'll fix it ~~when my eyeballs aren't hanging out of my head~~ in the morning.
> 
> Trivia: I almost called this 'Desk Job' but decided that belonged to something a lot less angsty-schmoop.

"You should get to class," Derek says, looking up at Stiles, still in his seat even after the last student has drifted out of the room.

Stiles sucks his lower lip into his mouth, drags it out from between his teeth. Maybe he's trying to hide a smile. He's failing. "It's lunch," he says. "Der—"

Derek's head snaps up in alarm and Stiles falls silent, pressing his lips together. His tongue darts out to wet them and he glances toward the open door. "Mr Hale," he whispers, though the words are clear to Derek. "Sorry."

"Just here," Derek says, and pushes the chair out from his desk, takes the few steps to the door and swings it shut. "Stiles, we have to—"

"Be careful, I know." Stiles snaps his textbook shut, shoves it into his backpack, but leaves it there as he approaches the desk. "You don't like it, though. When I call you Mr—"

Derek shakes his head. It's bad enough what they're doing, he doesn't need a reminder every time Stiles addresses him. When they're not here, when they're not in school, when they're not in class, it's so easy to forget that Stiles is his student, that Derek's in a position of authority because it's not like that when they're alone.

"Derek," Stiles breathes, reaching out, wrapping long fingers around Derek's wrist. "I couldn't concentrate. I've got no idea what you were talking about, all I could do was stare at your lips. I've been hard since class started." His fingers twitch, as if he wants to bring Derek's hand down to prove it, but Derek knows, he can smell Stiles' arousal, he's been able to smell it the whole time and it's a wonder he was able to give the lesson at all.

"Not here," Derek says. His heart is pounding, beating hard in his chest and he's just glad Stiles can't hear it, that it can't give him away. "Tonight. We'll see each other tonight, I swear."

Stiles takes a deep breath, nods, and lets it out slow. "'Kay. Yeah." He looks up, bats his fucking eyelashes, licks his lips, and Derek knows, he _knows_ that's not intentional. This is Stiles trying very hard to regain control, to think before he speaks, before he acts. 

The fact that he's so close to _not_ being in control makes Derek's pulse race a little faster, his breath come just a little quicker. The smell of Stiles, the flush of blood in his cheeks, the barely perceptible shake in the hand that still grips Derek's wrist tightly fuels his own desire, already fed with memories of the night before, of other nights alone in Derek's apartment, snatched whenever Stiles' father does a graveyard shift so Stiles won't be missed. Derek can't get enough of Stiles, can't believe, even after weeks of assurances, even with the physical evidence that Derek can detect as naturally as breathing, that Stiles wants _him_.

He's sixteen, and beautiful. Still awkward, yes, too-long limbs and no idea of his worth, but he could have anything, anyone, he wanted. Maybe not in high school, but in just a few years...

Derek's heart sinks as he thinks about the day, not so far away, when Stiles will leave Beacon Hills for college. He'll have his pick of schools, schools Derek couldn't have dreamed of when he was in Stiles' position. He could go anywhere.

Stiles is too good for him, Derek should never have touched him. But he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. They're just unlucky.

They were born too many years apart. They met too early, a cruel twist of fate that had Derek's heart almost break the day he started teaching here, at the beginning of Stiles' sophomore year. He resisted—they both resisted—as long as they could, but it was inevitable.

"Just kiss me," Stiles says. "Before I have to go jerk off in the boys bathroom."

Derek can't help the smile that spreads, soft, over his face as he leans in close, brushes his lips over Stiles' mouth. The glass in the door is frosted, hiding enough, and Derek would hear if someone came too close. He imagines it, what Stiles will have to do alone in a stall, knows that he'll be thinking of the moment they can be alone, when they can forget about the fact that Derek is the teacher and Stiles the student. Without thinking Derek shifts his feet, bringing him flush with Stiles' body, wraps his arms around Stiles' waist to keep them close, just to feel the heat that seems to pool at his hips.

Derek gasps when Stiles grinds against him, can't resist rocking back in turn. Stiles takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Derek's mouth, to bend his neck and kiss Derek deeply, teeth and tongue and raw enthusiasm. Derek isn't sure at what moment he knows that Stiles isn't going to be jerking off in the bathroom, but when Stiles goes for his belt and Derek doesn't stop him, it's already way past.

Then Stiles drops to his knees, looks up at Derek through those long dark eyelashes, and takes Derek's cock into his mouth with a moan that hums right into Derek's belly and shoots sparks up his spine.

"Oh, Stiles," Derek breathes, his voice shuddering so much the words come out like a series of sobs. He wants to slide his fingers into Stiles' hair, to hold on while he thrusts because it's so good, Stiles' hot mouth and agile tongue working him so well.

Instead, he puts his hands back on the desk, grips white knuckled to the edge, keeps his ass firmly planted between them as Stiles slides swollen red lips up and down his shaft. "So good," he whispers, then inhaling through his nose as the scent of arousal—Stiles' and his own—seems to flood the room. "You smell so good."

Stiles' grunt almost masks the distant sound of voices, of feet in the hallway outside the classroom. Students, moving around the school, coming from the direction of the cafeteria, heading... Derek still doesn't know. They could leave the building, go outside into the sunshine, but they could turn and walk past the classroom on their way to the bank of lockers further down.

Stiles' hand comes down on his own, and Derek drops his gaze from the windowed door. Heat in Stiles' eyes, need, desperation, but also concern. Derek shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, as the students continue on outside. "Keep going, _please_."

Stiles' eyes roll back in his head, his mouth sinks further onto Derek's cock, throat contracting around the head before he pulls off, eyes scrunching shut, a single tear escaping before he sinks down again. He moans and grunts, one hand tightening rhythmically on Derek's where he still holds it, the other fisting his thigh, the fabric of his pants bunched in his grip.

Derek can smell Stiles' precome, thinks it must be soaking his underwear, knows he's going to smell of frantic need for the rest of the day. Derek wants to breathe it in, wants to press his face to the sodden fabric and inhale it all, wants every part of Stiles that Stiles will give him, wants Stiles to be a part of him, wants to take him inside and keep him there forever.

Derek comes with his gaze locked to Stiles' face, his eyes, big dark pools of all-consuming want.

He's left reeling, his hands locked to the edge of the table the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor. Stiles rises, tongue darting out to the corner of his mouth, sliding over his upper lip, catching the lower between his teeth. "I need you," Stiles says, voice rough as sandpaper, dark and filthy to Derek's ears. He presses his teeth into Derek's throat, his hard dick against Derek's thigh, riding it as he tugs at his own belt. "Please, let me," he says, the words coming out in little gasps. "I need to fuck you."

Derek would like to say that this is proof of Stiles' age, of his immaturity, but Derek wants the same thing, wants Stiles inside his body, part of him, even for just a little while. "We're at school," he says, though, forcing the words out of a throat closed up with emotion. "Anyone could walk by—"

"You'll hear them," Stiles says, and it's true. "No one will know."

That's also true. The only other werewolf on campus has no reason to be near this classroom, never comes near this classroom, because apparently Cora finds the idea of her own brother teaching while she's still at high school mortifying. "Yeah," Derek says. "Yeah, do it. Fuck me."

He lets himself be turned, goes limp in Stiles' hands, lets Stiles press him down against the desk. He wonders briefly if Stiles' planned this all along as he produces lube from a pocket, but decides he doesn't care as long, slick fingers press him open. His pants slip down to his thighs, exposing his bare ass as Stiles stretches him just enough, as Stiles drops wet, open mouth kisses down his spine.

Derek starts to beg, two fingers not enough, but Stiles is only getting him slick and soon enough he's pushing the blunt head of his dick into Derek's ass.

Briefly, the room fills with sound as they moan in unison, and then Stiles says, "Yeah, Derek, fuck yeah, need this so much, need it all the time," before they both fall silent but for soft gasps and rasping breaths.

Derek barely keeps an ear trained for sound outside the room, the distant hum of the student body a constant, reassuring presence—as long as they're far enough away. Stiles starts slow, his thrusts erratic and jerky because he's been close for a long time and it'll take him a moment to grasp the control he needs to make this last more than a few minutes.

Derek presses his palms flat against his desk, stares at the words on the blackboard behind it that blur and swim before his eyes. 

He never thought he could do this, never imagined he'd surrender like this. Derek's a beta, with an uncle and a sister above him that will become Alpha long before Derek ever will. He's not dominant by nature, but Stiles is human, and a full nine years younger. Derek's nature, his instinct, shouldn't allow this, and yet, he surrenders completely, trusts completely that Stiles will take care of him, will keep him safe.

Stiles finds a rhythm, and each long, sure thrust grazes lightly over Derek's over-sensitive prostate. He cries out, makes a sound half-way between a whimper and a moan, and his nails scrape gouges in the brittle varnish of his desk. Every time he looks down during class he'll remember this moment. "Stiles," he whines, "Stiles, please."

Stiles' breath is hot on the back of his neck. "Tell me," he pants. "God, Derek, fuck. You feel so good. I need to—" His thrusts falter once more. "Say it."

Derek responds to the urgency by pushing back, hungry for Stiles' cock to be deeper inside him, as far as it will go. "Come in me," he says. "Fucking come in me, I need it." The desk rocks beneath them. Derek's cock is half-hard, but he doesn't need to come, couldn't care less. "Please, Stiles, I need you to fill me."

Stiles groans as he comes, the nails of one hand digging deep into Derek's shoulder, the other gripping tight to Derek's hip. His body jerks with small, aborted thrusts that only serve to drive him deeper into Derek's body as he spills.

Finally, they both go still, Stiles pressed to Derek's back, both of them damp with sweat. Derek's shirt sticks to his skin, and he's going to have to put his jacket over it, despite the heat.

Right now he doesn't care. He smells of Stiles, smells like he belongs to Stiles, and that's all he wants. He craves the day he can wear Stiles' scent with pride, instead of having to shower it away before he goes near any of his family.

Footsteps and voices grow more distinct. A locker slams shut. Stiles hears it too, moves off of Derek, fumbles with his belt. "Shit," he says under his breath. "Guess we missed out on lunch."

Derek hurries to get his own clothes back in order. He doesn't care about lunch, but that was too close. "Stiles, we shouldn't have—"

"I know." Stiles turns, retrieves his backpack from the back of the class, and wanders back down the aisle with it on his shoulder looking too much like what he is—a student. "I just..." He stops, stands a couple of feet from Derek, a respectable distance between them. "I can't _not_ touch you, sometimes. Most of the time. Almost all of the time." He reaches out, locks his fist into the front of Derek's shirt, pulls him out of view of the window, so they don't even cast a silhouette as they kiss goodbye.

"Tonight," Derek whispers as they break apart.

Stiles grins. "I can't wait." He heads for the door, opens it, steps through and pauses, turning back. "Later, Mr Hale," he says, his voice at a normal level. He winks, and disappears, leaving the door wide open.

Derek crosses the room, pushes a window open. The room reeks of sex, but he's fairly sure a bunch of human teenagers who constantly stink of it themselves aren't going to notice. It's the breeze from outside Derek wants. It cools his burning skin as Stiles' final words keep repeating in his head.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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